Room #3 (An Alex Landon Thriller Book 2) Read online

  “Here we go,” the TSA lieutenant politely interrupted, “should be that first gate on the left. Looks like they’re gonna start deplaning any minute now.”

  “Thanks, gents. Need anything else from us?”

  “No,” the Phoenix sergeant replied, “but we do have to stick around and birddog you until you get your folks and guns out past the security line.”

  “We’re not gonna arrest him or take him into our custody here, Sarge. I have to convince this guy to come in on consent. I know he’s dirty, but I can’t prove it yet. With luck, he’ll give us a sit-down this morning and be in cuffs this afternoon.”

  “Godspeed, Detective, I don’t envy your position,” the sergeant offered as he and the TSA lieutenant stepped back away from the target gate and appeared to try to blend into the background as much as two uniformed cops could.

  “Landon,” Lindsey asked, “you remember this guy well enough to recognize him?”

  “Unless he changed his appearance, I think so,” he replied, and removed a manila folder from his black DEA-logoed messenger bag. He opened it to reveal color and black-and-white images of Buddy Stevenson, and showed them to Lindsey. “These are his driver license photos. The license is still valid and these were updated when he turned sixty-five, so, three years ago. Five-eight tall, two bills, white hair over blue eyes.”

  “That’s easy to look for. Hopefully he didn’t lose a bunch of weight and color his hair overseas.”

  “He reminded me of a short Santa Clause with a well-trimmed beard,” Alex offered.

  “Even easier.”

  “They call it Keep-In-Memory-System for a reason.” Alex closed the folder, but kept it accessible, just in case one of them needed to refer to its contents while scanning the disembarking passengers. He intently scanned the growing mass nearest him just before it split apart as travelers headed to restrooms, baggage claim, food stands, and connecting flight gates.

  “Landon, I think I got ‘em. Santa and a blonde schoolgirl coming out the jet way now, yellow-and-red luau shirt.”

  Alex looked past the main crowd to where Lindsey had directed him and saw a white male, who looked about seventy years old, who looked down at a young blonde girl as though in conversation with her, and the two held hands while the girl walked along Santa’s right side. White, thinning hair, the same dense, trimmed beard, similar height, about the same weight. Could be him. “Need him to look up so I can see his face. I got him, Linds, if you can keep scanning the rest of the crowd in case this isn’t our guy.”

  “Okay.”

  Alex noticed a digital clock above the arrival gate, which changed from 07:59:59 to 08:00:00 just as Santa and the girl passed beneath it. Within only a half-dozen steps, Alex saw the grandfather look up toward him, and he immediately recognized the man as Buddy Stevenson. As though Stevenson sensed an adverse presence, he scanned the crowd himself, and quickly locked eyes with Alex. The detective thought he saw surprise, and maybe a bit of fear, on the older man’s face, but it soon dissipated and he directed the girl to walk toward Alex and Lindsey. His composure returned quickly, so he’s probably a pretty practiced actor. Maybe he feared we already had an arrest warrant for him?

  “I assume Detective Hansen got my message,” Stevenson offered as he neared Alex, “and you’re here to talk with me, Officer, wait, lemme try to remember. London, is it?” He extended his right hand and Alex shook it with his own.

  “Really, really close, sir. Landon. Pretty good memory considering how briefly we spoke last year. This is my partner, Detective Lindsey.”

  Stevenson shook hands with her, as well, but continued to address Alex. “Yes, well, at my age I try to remember everything I can. The details become much more critical with age. And, it seems, you promoted. You were ‘Officer Landon’ when we last met, correct?”

  “Yessir, I was actually in a testing process for my current assignment when I helped out with your grandson’s case.”

  “Well, it would seem you must have done pretty well to have earned the new title.” He leaned down to the young girl, who’d, so far, stood still and avoided eye contact with either of the detectives. “Jezz, these detectives are here to help us find your cousin. Would you like to meet them?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said to the floor near Alex’s feet. Is she shy, abused, afraid? Hard to tell yet.

  “Okay, but remember, you have to be a good girl.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.” With that apparent permission, she looked up at Alex and he saw her bright blue eyes regarded him and Lindsey apprehensively, even as she shook hands with both of them. “My name is Jezz. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Jezz,” Alex replied as he and Lindsey both slowly dropped to a knee to physically bring themselves down to the young girl’s level. “You can call me ‘Alex,’ and this is my friend ‘Michele.’” He saw her smile at the familiarity.

  “But,” Stevenson quickly corrected, “you should call them ‘Detective Landon’ and ‘Detective Lindsey,’ because that’s what good girls do, Jezz.” Alex saw the girl’s smile fade, replaced by a seemingly practiced façade. “Please refer to them by their proper titles, which both shows respect, and reminds you of who they are.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  This dude’s worse than I remember him, Alex thought. Somehow, being a lead in his grandson’s disappearance was less creepy than how he’s manipulating and controlling this little girl. Alex stood to address Stevenson and he saw Lindsey had done the same. “If you can make time for us, Mister Stevenson, I’d really appreciate it if you could sit down with us this morning. We could really use your help on this case.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t know how much help I can actually be. I appreciate your quick response to my messages, as well as your enthusiasm and persistence to learn what happened to my grandson.”

  Alex thought Stevenson’s entire demeanor was consistent with ‘guilt’ and ‘manipulation.’ He wants to minimize his information and knowledge, and seems to be searching for an angle to leverage us, but he doesn’t have it yet. And he hasn’t once referred to Kevin by name.

  “Detective Landon,” Stevenson inquired, “will Detective Hansen be joining us today?”

  “He’s actually out of state at a training class,” Lindsey replied before Alex could speak.

  I knew she wouldn’t remain ‘seen-and-not-heard,’ Alex thought. “He called me this morning, sir, because I helped out with the initial report and asked if I could make time to meet with you today.”

  “Well, as I stated on my message, I’m happy to do what I can to assist you with the investigation, but I do have some practical considerations. I’m sure Detective Hansen explained I’m here to make final arrangements for my daughter, which includes taking custody of my fifteen-year-old grandson, and then the three of us are due to return back to Manilla tonight.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alex asked, “do you mean that your daughter is being buried today?”

  “No,” Stevenson said while negatively shaking his head, “likely in two or three days’ time, it seems there is no such thing as an ‘emergency funeral’ in this country these days.”

  “You’re not staying for the services?” This guy gets more and more suspicious by the minute.

  “No, I never liked them, and they’re not for the dead, anyway. My daughter is better off where she is, and I’m certain everyone who loved her already showed their love and respect while she was alive.”

  “What about the kids,” Lindsey asked, and Alex heard firm protest and judgement in her tone. “They don’t want to pay respects to their mother?”

  “Candace, my daughter, was Jezzie’s aunt, and they weren’t that close,” Stevenson replied to Lindsey’s inquiry, but never looked away from Alex. “I’m sure Robert, my grandson, won’t benefit from seeing a bunch of sad-faced adults pining away in vain for an alternate reality. He’ll be better off if he doesn’t attend the funeral, as, I think, would we all. Unfortunately, the cremation process would’ve actually taken longer than burying her, so here we are.”

  Alex sought to get back on track and move along within their compressed timeline. “As I said, Mister Stevenson, we greatly appreciate your time. If you’re okay with it, we have two cars waiting outside, and we can drive you out to Dry Creek. We’d like to meet with you at the station so we can go over the case material with you, especially since you’re probably the last available expert on Kevin and his life.”

  “And, this is entirely voluntary?” Alex thought the man looked at them suspiciously while asking his question, as though examining the detectives for indications of deception.

  “”Yes, sir, absolutely voluntary. You don’t have to help, don’t have to go anywhere with us, and you can leave whenever you’d like to do so.”

  “Well, under those conditions, yes,” Stevenson’s initial, protracted response sounded hesitant and suspicious, but he quickly recovered, “I suppose we can accommodate you for a little while, and that’ll save us from waiting and paying for a cab. We do have a single, large bag to retrieve from the baggage claim.”

  “Thank you, Mister Stevenson, we’ll follow you.”

  “You are free to search that bag once we have it,” he offered, without any prompting or inquiry, “if you feel the need to do so.”

  “No need, Buddy,” Lindsey offered, “I’m sure T-S-A already went through it and would’ve noticed if Kevin had been hiding in there.”

  “Detective Lindsey,” Buddy disapprovingly scowled and turned his granddaughter away from the investigators, “whether you intended that as a threat of suspicion or a morally offensive joke, I take great exception to it, especially in front of young Jezz.” He walked off ahead of them toward
the overhead ‘Baggage Claim’ sign, and Alex held Lindsey back for a second before following them.

  “What,” she asked, in feigned misunderstanding. “Too soon?”

  “Yeah, Linds, a little too-fucking-soon,” Alex replied, his exasperation and stress plain in his voice, “remember that all we’ve got is consent. If you piss him off and he tells us to pound sand, that kid never gets found.”

  “My bad,” she verbally retreated, “but you know that kid’s long dead by now, right? I think we’re after justice and a body recovery.”

  “I’m well aware of the odds, Linds,” Alex quietly stated, “but I’m looking for the whole, living kid until we have specific reason to believe otherwise.”

  “While we’re at it, we need to get Jezz away from Stevenson. She’s doomed to Stepford if he raises her.”

  Three

  United States Customs-Border Protection Processing. Sky Harbor Airport. Phoenix, Arizona.

  Dry Creek Detectives Alex Landon and Michele Lindsey stood outside the US Customs area and watched Buddy Stevenson and his granddaughter, Jezz, await the arrival of their checked luggage, thankfully no longer with the help of the minders who’d been required to get them armed-and-ticketless past security. Alex saw the line ahead of Stevenson moved slowly, much too slowly for his liking. Time is running out and he can walk away at any time without consequence. Gotta keep this thing on the rails.

  “What do you think he needed to bring back into the U-S so badly that he checked a massive bag, knowing he’d only be here a few hours,” Lindsey rhetorically asked. “Are you seriously gonna pass on searching the bag?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why? He’s offering you a free pass.”

  “I know. We’ll get to it, if it becomes important.”

  “Alright, Landon, this is your show, but I think we should at least peek inside.”

  “Linds, I don’t think he got anything significant or apparent past customs personnel in two countries, so I don’t wanna cash in any of my ‘consent chips’ on an unlikely gamble. I want him to think he’s above suspicion and that I don’t see him as a suspect. I want him to open up a bit, brag a bit, make some veiled admissions that I can use against him. Then, after I arrest him, I get to look in the bag anyway. If I look now, it’s gonna be harder to get the most important item on my wish list.”

  “That’s fair,” she admitted. “I just prefer to never turn down consent-to-search. Where do you want the girl to ride?”

  “Let’s leave them together for now, let ‘em ride out in my car. He’ll be more at ease if he feels in greater control of this, and we don’t want to run the risk of her making spontaneous statements to you and getting them thrown out of court later, just because of her age. I think it’s best to ensure we don’t talk to her until the forensic psychologist is with her.”

  “Kay, so, I’ll just, what, cart out the luggage?”

  “Yeah, there’s no room in my trunk for their bags, so throw ‘em in yours. No one can get to ‘em, and then, you lead us back to the station so he’s got a constant watch over your car for the ride out. Make him feel a little more secure, but make it look like a coincidence. I want him to feel physical and intellectual control over a lot of this. He’ll feel like we’re stupid, he’s smarter than we are, and I‘m betting that he eventually makes mistakes and starts giving us details he wouldn’t have otherwise. I wanna give him all the rope we’ll need to hang him. I think he’s just arrogant enough that he’ll put the noose around his own neck if we let ‘im.”

  “You know I prefer the good-cop-bad-cop routine, Landon, I hate playing the dumb girl.”

  “Yeah, but it’s effective for a reason.”

  “So, you’re gonna run a Columbo on him?”

  “Yep, go with what works.”

  “Alright, Lieutenant,” she sarcastically emphasized the title in deference to the fictional TV detective from her childhood, “I’ll just stay stupid and wait for your ‘one more question.’”

  “Atta girl, Linds,” he smiled and said. “And, while you’re at it, try not to insult the man anymore.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” she offered with false naiveté dripping from her voice, “I’m just a dumb girl who needs a man around to explain the world and all its wonders to me.”

  “Alright, dummie, then you can update Wall and get everything set up on the drive back.”

  “Hmm. Fine. I’ll do your work for a mere two-thirds of the recognition.”

  Four

  Lindsey’s Unmarked Police Sedan. Westbound Interstate Ten. Phoenix, Arizona.

  After merging onto westbound Interstate-10 from Sky Harbor Airport, Detective Michele Lindsey used her left knee to steer her unmarked Ford sedan through the freeway’s long veer-left while her hands remained occupied with her work cell and police radio. “Hang on, Wall, one second,” she stated while taking the wheel with her left hand to swerve around a much slower-moving driver who dared to merely travel at the speed limit. “Alright, sorry, I’m back. Some asshole’s afraid of a stupid speeding ticket.”

  “So, you and Landon are headed back here with Stevenson and the girl?”

  “Yeah, he consented to come out, maybe just for the free ride to Dry Creek, but even offered to have us search his bags.”

  “You didn’t, did you?”

  “No,” she stated, her disappointment plain. “Landon said ‘no.’ He didn’t want to ruin his game plan.”

  “Good, so here’s where we’re at back home. Officer Scott James is working Patrol today, and I’ve gotten him pulled off the dispatch board so he can help with the juvenile interview. Now that we know Stevenson’s agreed to speak with us, I’ll get the forensic child psychologist called in. She expected we might need her, so she should be ready to head over and may beat you here. I’ll work with Hershel to get the audio-video recordings and monitor room set up.”

  “Landon said you were gonna quarterback these interviews?”

  “Not exactly. He’s leading the Stevenson interview, and I’m gonna be his point-of-contact outside the room. If you, Officer James, or the forensic shrink uncover something we can use, I’ll start getting search warrants for Stevenson’s home, and then we’ll try to corroborate anything that comes out of the interviews with physical evidence.”

  “Good thing you can just fax those off to the downtown Search Warrant Center without wasting time driving all over the city.”

  “Yeah, so, if the stars align for us today, we’ll get into Stevenson’s house in the next few hours, find what made him flee the country, and keep him from ever hurting another kid again.”

  “That’s a big fuckin’ ‘if,’ Mike, considering the consequences for these kids if we fail.”

  “So,” Wall responded without hesitation, “don’t fail.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Michele’s sarcasm returned, “great advice.” She paused and realized a potential oversight. “Wait, can we watch the forensic child interview from the main monitor room?”

  “No. Because of child privacy issues, it’s kept separate from the main monitor room we use for adult interviews. Our civilian I-T staff can help us monitor and record adult and some juvenile interviews, but the forensic child interviews have to be monitored from a separate, isolated room by a sworn cop.”

  “So, who do you have to monitor the forensic interview? Are you or Melner doing that?”

  “No, we’re gonna stay free to work on ad hoc stuff as it comes up. I think I’m gonna use Templeton, especially since he’s experienced and already here on shift.”

  “Templeton?” Michele even heard the disbelief in her own voice. “I don’t remember him working kiddie cases, I thought he’s only been on Patrol and SWAT.”

  “Yeah, at our agency,” Wall explained. “So, I met him while he was a kiddie crimes detective at his old shop, and he’s one of the best I’ve ever met. Did that for about five years before he tried to drink every drop Jack Daniels produced to deal with the ugliness of that case load, and it cost him his marriage and custody of his kids. If he’s willing to step back into this particular sewer for a few hours, I think he’s the best man for the job.”

  “I’ll leave it up to you to ask, then,” Lindsey countered. “If Templeton wanted me to know about that part of his personal history, I’m sure he would’ve brought it up by now.”